


One and the Same

by darkforetold



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: Hair in her grip, she twisted her fingers, and his face fractured under the onslaught. His breath hitched, and suddenly, there was clarity. Of unspoken intents and promises. Not of hunts, but of carnal needs.He was a deity, and he fell from grace, to his knees,for her.She toed the underside of his chin, then settled her foot on his knee, and before his awaiting eyes, she parted her thighs for him. “Worship me.”
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 20
Kudos: 79





	One and the Same

**Author's Note:**

> Totally self-indulgent porn with our beautiful murder prince. ♥
> 
> Thank you to frostmantle for the beta. ilu!

Her sweat clung to her skin, her heart a forceful drumbeat in her ears. Every exhale punched out of her throat. She stilled and listened. Her senses focused on the rustle of the wind through the trees. The smell of pine all around her. The fathomless silence.

The snap of a twig.

She darted out from behind a blue spruce, its sticky sap marking her. Easy for someone like _him_ to pick out of the copse of trees. He knew her smell, the way she thought, fought, killed—knew every inch of her body without having touched her at all. Could undoubtedly hear how her heart whispered his name with every frantic leap.

Over a fallen log, bare feet touching down softly, but not enough. Fallen pine needles scratched at her skin, and the darkness closed in all around her. Blind in the forest night, she navigated by stark intuition. Branches clawed at her satin nightgown, bare thighs burning from the exertion of the hunt. Behind another tree, then, the curve of her spine flat against it. She listened and heard nothing. 

But his blood—it stained the air, oozing from a wound she’d inflicted with her lance. Disarmed, unarmored, she half wondered why he still hunted her, but knew that even now, wholly outmatched, she was still his greatest threat. His greatest enemy. His greatest friend.

“I can smell you,” he whispered in the dark. 

It thrilled her.

She touched her forehead to the tree’s trunk, smiled despite herself – “Come find me.” – then bounded off into a dead sprint to anywhere. Faster until her lungs screamed in pain, over brush that nicked her shins, skidding beneath nearly felled trees and coming out the other side bruised. Exhilarated that, no matter what she did, what obstacles she overcame, he was still right behind her. Nipping at her heels, just as a starved wolf might.

Over a brook, and into a thick nestle of trees. Moonlight pierced the clouds, dissolving mystery, and a flash of abandoned steel signaled its refuge. A small blade, she discovered, sunk deep into wood. Strategically placed or long forgotten, she didn’t know. But she armed herself anew besides, holding it close to her chest like a fallen savior. Then, for whatever reason, she hesitated—

—and that was all it took. 

A flash of eyes, somehow silver in the dark. The whistle of a katana cutting through air. 

_Thunk_.

Bark split just above her head, showering her with splinters and a fine thread of her pale hair. Her heart smattered against her ribcage as he oozed from the shadows. The sight of him never failed to cut her open, or rob her lungs of air. He was divinity. Sculpted for no other purpose than to fuck, hunt and kill.

With the flick of his wrist, he wretched his blade free—then simply cast it aside. His steps were measured, borne only of grace and devastation. He shrugged off his coat, white and inlaid with gold, as truly unarmored as she. He’d strangle her then, bare hands around her throat, watching as life slipped from her eyes. 

More intimate that way, she thought.

He stepped closer, towering over her. The scent of him hit her first. Blood, metal, pine and _her_ —chamomile and lilies. His warmth pervaded her sense of safety. His eyes burrowing so deep into her skin she forgot she herself truly existed at all. His meticulous study of her, from her head to toes, made her shiver. Stuck forever between fight or flight, of stripping herself bare and wholly surrendering to him. He smiled, a slip of a thing, and it was haunting.

Had she pleased him when she ran? Was he satisfied with her?

Her body sang as he closed the gap between them. The cut of his collarbones, the frame of his angular hips—she took a steadying breath as _desire_ flared within her. This close, she could touch him if she dared, lose herself in the muscled planes of his chest, kiss him, fuck him—murder him.

Blood stung her nose. The wound in his side was dire: fatal for mortal men, but for him merely an inconvenience. If she struck him there a second time, if she was quick enough, smart enough, foolish enough—

“Why do you see fit to deny me the proper battle I am due, my friend?”

She inhaled his everything, peering up, up, into the bluest eyes she’d ever known.

The twelve must have loved him best.

Smiling, she reached out, brushing delicate fingers along his jawline, threading them through his hair. His eyes lowered a touch, his breath steady through his nose. A singular moment of peace. Quiet and still in the pale moonlight. 

There, then gone. 

She yanked his hair back, and his neck curved with the force of it. The noise from his throat—a deep note between a growl and a purr. It set her alight with how… raw it was, how primal. How many of his secrets it unearthed. How much the hunter wanted to be _hunted_. 

“Because you haven't earned it yet.”

It was then she struck—knife angled for his side. He caught her wrist and held it, his fingers biting into her skin. Angled striking face stoic, yet his eyes betrayed his offense. “You dishonor me.” Not because she’d struck him, but because it’d been too obvious, too easy to deflect. “Why?”

He twisted until she cried out and dropped the blade. Pain burst through her arm, but she suffered it all the same. “Because I don’t want to fight,” she grated out, “I want you to _kneel_.”

Hair in her grip, she twisted her fingers, and his face fractured under the onslaught. His breath hitched, and suddenly, there was clarity. Of unspoken intents and promises. Not of hunts, but of carnal needs. 

He was a deity, and he fell from grace, to his knees, _for her_.

She toed the underside of his chin, then settled her foot on his knee, and before his awaiting eyes, she parted her thighs for him. “Worship me.”

A lethal rush of movement, too quick for her eyes to track. She felt his heat first, and it was fire against her skin. Then, the strong support of his arms under her thighs—and with them, the brutal upward shift of her world. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his shoulders, and like that, she was spread for him, his face right in line with the most intimate part of her. His breath was even and warm over damp skin, his lips a hasty kiss on her inner thigh, another—this one with teeth—closer inward. Impatient. Hungry. His eyes said as much, a feral blue in the soft moonlight. And the sight of him between her legs, willing to take all of her, made her want him even more.

He pressed his mouth hard against her core, her thin smallclothes wilting under the wet heat of his mouth, and the friction scattered her mind like fireflies. She arched her back, slamming her head against the tree. But if she felt any pain, she couldn’t tell, far too lost in the dance of his tongue to care. He was graceful in everything but this, delving into her like she was a divine fruit to devour—like he was ravenous, and she his only means of succor.

It was immediate, this carnal heat he’d created in her, marching closer and closer, burning every fiber of her being. Much more of this and she’d crest, taken apart solely by his mouth. Her only distraction was the suddenness of his thumb at her hip, hooking into her lacy underthings. Then, with a violent flippancy only he could muster, a simple flick of his wrist, he tore them. They fell away like tattered rags, leaving her bare. _His_.

In that moment, their eyes met. The sharp planes of his beautiful face kissed by moonlight, his pale hair—the touch of his sinful smile. One broad stroke of his tongue was her undoing. She called out for him as her body keened, as the rush of euphoria shattered her to pieces. Her mind nothing but stars and hushed light. 

“Tell me what you desire of me.”

His breath was heated against her raw skin, his gentle askance almost whispered in the night’s air. This lethal prince, who’d sunder a hundred nations just to find her, waiting for her to bid him anew—

“Again,” she bade, her throat raw.

He took to her without another word, nipping at the join between her thigh and core. Then, another singular sweep of his tongue, firm and hungry, along the length of her. He buried himself within her then, sinking his tongue deep, while his lips sucked at her tight bud. Her cry was sharp, immediate, and she scrambled at the bark above her head, looking skyward with another arch of her back. It made him more frenzied, and he pressed harder, tonguing her deeper, fucking her with it. She choked on a gasp and tightened her legs around his shoulders, heel digging into his spine. Signaling _harder, more_. And he did. With every devilish tongue flick, his mouth covering all of her, she rolled her hips up to meet his face, grinding that bud against his angular nose. 

Her body roared to near breaking, taut with tension, with needing release—and she was greedy with it, bucking her hips into the deft flicking of his tongue. He conquered her with long bold strokes, then switched back to shallow and teasing. At her sex, deep within it, then at the bud, driving her mad with every pass. Her breath caught in her throat, and desperate, she looked down at him, watching him partake of her like a starved man. His eyes were heavy, hooded, completely and absolutely lost in her. The sight alone almost hurled her over the edge, but she needed more. She needed to _touch him_.

Her fingers sought his face, and his eyes fluttered open when she brushed his cheek. Another lap of his tongue had her hand in his hair, and the sharp intake of breath he took told her everything. She pulled at the strands, harder than she should have, and the sound that came from his throat—

Like earth cracking under strain, a break of thunder—it was a growl and a moan together, and more beautiful, more breathtaking than—

She shuddered, succumbing to her second keening, her groan cut short by the abrupt shift in everything. So quick, brutal, so ultimate, that she missed their transition. Suddenly, he was inside her, stretching her impossibly wide with his massive cock. She was still spread for him, with his arms supporting her under her thighs. And oh, how he fucked into her with abandon, filling her to breaking, then hallowing her out with each withdrawal. His slick heat sparked her body anew, and gods—how good it felt, each ilm taking her apart as he chased his release.

He threw his whole body into his thrusts, turned savage—his fucking ungraceful, the tremble of his body indicative. She clenched around him, and her body surrendered itself yet again, her orgasm so intense, so complete, it left her dizzy. With another hard pull on his hair, he spilled into her with a—

::: 

—Verity Iverness sucked in a startled breath and jolted awake, seeing only darkness all around her. It wasn’t pine that she smelled, but the stale stench of her uneaten dinner. She was impossibly warm, but not because of his heat. Blankets were a tumble at her feet, and the sheets soaked with her own sweat.

She was in her private room, she finally realized. Safe and away from him—from his touch, his skin on hers. 

The heat between her legs remembered him and still yearned. 

For her greatest enemy. Her greatest friend.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) What timeline is this? No one knows!  
> 2) His outfit in 5.2/Dissidia is the best thing Square has ever gifted us
>
>> The Zenos Thirst is ravaging our little discord right now. Do you want a place where you can scream about him* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
>> 
>> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


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